


Like Old Times

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Clubbing, Drinking, John Returns, M/M, Mary's Betrayal, Secrets, Stag Night Do-Over, Truth, date, game, sexually explicit content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mary's betrayal is revealed, Sherlock and John decide to set that part of their lives aside and allow themselves a do over, starting with that stag night.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Finds Out The Truth But Sherlock Doesn't

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_The baby isn't even yours._ John was sure that she hadn't meant to say it --the second the words came out of her mouth, her eyes were wide with regret. The following three hours had been the hardest of John's life. He had started packing and she was doing her best to backtrack -- trying to say she had lied just to hurt him. And then she changed her story again -- begging him, reminding him of everything she had done to stay with him, everything she had given up and tried to put behind her because she loved him. But the only thing that stuck out in his mind now was her shooting Sherlock, and not just once, but a second time when she was almost discovered.

He was embarrassed to have forgiven her. He had mostly done it for the baby anyway -- and a little bit because Sherlock had asked -- because there was no sense of this baby growing up without its father just because Mary had made so many mistakes. But now it turns out it wasn't even his baby. He felt a pang of guilt for the child because he didn’t know what kind of life it would have -- didn’t know who the father was or if he would be involved -- but he couldn't forgive her. Not again.

Of course John's first thought was to go back to Baker Street, to go back to Sherlock, but he couldn't make the call. What was he going to tell him? _I know I forgave my wife after she almost killed you twice but can I stay here? It's over now._ He got himself a room at a little hotel not too far from the flat he shared with Mary until he figured out what to do next. He had hoped he could have asked Mycroft for help in a speedy divorce but that would mean that Sherlock would find out and he didn’t want to have that. Not yet. That meant they were going to have to do this proper, no matter how long and drawn out it became.

He had plans with Sherlock the next day. Sherlock had called to ask him to lunch a couple days ago, and John was assuming there was a case. He was going to have to play it cool and keep this whole mess off of his face, body language, and out of his voice. He hated lying to Sherlock, but he just needed to settle everything first before he told Sherlock what was happening. It would be easier that way, and he didn’t want to be convinced into trying again. He thought about the baby again and felt his chest tighten. Would Mary go to him now? How much had she really loved him if she was off with some other man the whole time, enough to get pregnant? He rubbed his face hard and tried to push it out of his mind for now. He needed to rest, to sleep and prepare for tomorrow.  

At Baker Street, Mrs Hudson was calmly washing the mugs as Sherlock ranted at her from across the room. Once she was finished, she turned around sharply, interrupting him with a question. "When are you seeing John?"  
  
"What?" Sherlock said angrily. "This has nothing to do with John. Don't try to distract from me from the point I was making that you --"

Mrs Hudson cut him off. "Look," she said, pulling her calendar off the wall and tossing it at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked down at the page and then flipped it over to the previous month. It was all covered in her scribbles. "And I'm looking at . . .what?"

"Look for the letter J written in blue and then the letter L written in red," she said, properly drying her hands and walking over to him. "See them? See the red L's a day or two before the blue J's? Those blue J's are the days that you see John. There's not been one for a while."

"And the red L's stand for what exactly?" Sherlock asked.

"For you," she said.

"L?"

"For lunatic," she said, reaching over for a red pen and writing a big L on today's date. She softened her voice a little. "Look, the time in between is getting longer and longer and I'm proud of you, Sherlock, for working hard to settle in and accept John's . . . being away. But you're still too extreme when you start missing him too much." She reached over and touched his hand. "Stop yelling at me now and tell me, when are you seeing John again?"

Sherlock looked down at the calendar but the scribbles were merging into a blurry mess. "Tomorrow," he said quietly.

"That's good," she said. "Is he coming here -- for lunch? Would you like me to make you both a meal?"

"It's for a case," he said. "Well, I told him it's for a case. I just . . ." 

Mrs Hudson tapped Sherlock's hand and looked over at him. "I know, Sherlock," she said. "I miss him, too."

At the hotel, John was struggling. Attempting sleep was an awful lie he was telling himself. He wasn’t trying at all. He was just thinking about when and who and how and why. Eventually he got up and simply paced the small room until the sun came up. He pulled out his phone and almost texted Sherlock when he realised what time it was. Would he be up right now? He sighed and decided to give it another hour. He sat at the desk and made to open his computer. Suddenly he was jerking up, his neck sore and his cheek wet. He'd fallen asleep at the desk. "Fuck," he mumbled, fishing out at phone. It was only eleven. They hadn’t decided on an exact time for them to meet up, but he wanted to spend as much time with Sherlock as possible and, unless he thought of something quickly, Sherlock would be expecting John to leave for home at the end of the night.  

_Hello, Sherlock. What time did you want to meet? -JW_

Sherlock had gone back up to the flat after the incident with Mrs Hudson and had tried not to think of what she'd said. He took a bath, read for a bit, and then got into bed and immediately found his mind wandering, making its way into the safety of his mind palace. John was there and things were how they were before -- before Sherlock's fall, before she'd arrived, before everything bad that had happened. It was a safe place for Sherlock to be.

Suddenly he heard his phone. How long had he been away? He reached over and read John's text. He made a frown. He didn't like when John wrote 'Hello Sherlock' -- like they were . . . just . . . friends.

_Anytime is fine. Where would you like to meet? Here or somewhere else? SH_

_I can come to the flat first. We can figure it out from there. -JW_

John sent the message and hopped into the shower quickly, just to freshen up a bit before he headed out. If any time was fine he would just start heading over there now. He'd forgotten how far out of the city he was, which reminded him about all the hassle he'd have to face to get the papers drawn up for the divorce. He could do that tomorrow though. Now he only wanted to focus on hanging out with Sherlock and not revealing what had happened yet. 

Sherlock got up and showered, making some tea and setting out two mugs. He felt good, well rested. He felt good. Glad that he'd soon be seeing John.

John used his key to get in -- the first time he tried knocking Sherlock had thrown a proper fit. He never actually said it, but John realised the action made them seem more like strangers so after that he started using his key again as if he lived there. "Sherlock?" he called as he got to the top of the stairs, unable to help himself. 

Sherlock smiled. John was home. "Come up," he called, pouring the tea. He couldn't help smiling.

John walked in and hung his coat behind the door. "Hello," he said, moving to the door of the kitchen to wait for his mug. "You always have the best timing.

Sherlock brought in the mugs and sat down on his chair. "You doing all right?" He took a sip of tea.

"Uh, yeah," John said, sipping his tea. "The usual. How about you?"

Sherlock looked up. John didn't seem quite all right. But perhaps Sherlock was just hoping to see something that wasn't there -- just hoping that John would finally realise the mistake he'd made. "Yeah, I'm all right," Sherlock said. "Did you get a haircut?"

John shook his head. "Well, a couple weeks ago but you've seen me since then," he smiled.

"Oh, right," Sherlock said. "I wasn't sure when the last time we saw each other was." He had a little more tea. "So . . . how have you been keeping? Nothing new at all?" He knew he'd already asked how John was, but he didn't really know what else to say. It shouldn't be awkward between them, but it was.

"The surgery's been a bit busy but that's the season," John said. "Um, Mary has gone out of town for a couple days.” The words came out before he could really think about them, but that was a good excuse. That would explain John being able to hang out longer, hims being in town randomly throughout the week, and maybe even John looking more tired than usual. “You said you had a case?” he asked.

"Right, the case, right . . ." Sherlock said. "Wait -- what? Where's she gone?"

"Oh, you know. Just a girls' trip with some friends,” he lied.

Sherlock crinkled his nose and then regretted it. "Oh, okay, yes, I suppose . . . right . . ." Sherlock said, stuttering a bit stupidly. "Anyway, the case -- I'm . . . I'm not sure. Let's call Lestrade," he said, standing up quickly and getting out his phone.

"Do you need us?" he said as soon as Lestrade answered.

"Us?"

"John and me, obviously," Sherlock said. He glanced up at John.

"What are you talking about?" Lestrade asked.

"The case?"

"Um . . . sorry, there's nothing right now. I'm sorry. How long is he there for?" Lestrade asked. Oddly, he felt guilty -- he knew how badly Sherlock must want an excuse to work with John on something.

"All right," Sherlock said and hung up. "I guess there's nothing at the moment," Sherlock said, turning back to John. "Will you still stay for a visit?"

"Of course I will," John said. "I didn't only come for the case. In fact, it kind of works out because now I get you all to myself." He smiled wider and raised his mug in a sort of toast. He wondered if maybe they could hang out like they had on his stag night now that John didn't have to actually go home. They could get drunk again and maybe a little touchy like they had that night. Perhaps that was wrong to think about so soon after Mary, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it before. He'd realised during Sherlock's absence that what he felt for the detective was more than friendship. But then Mary came along and it all remained in his head, his own little secret.

"Good," Sherlock said. "What should we do? Watch telly? Eat? Are you hungry? Do you want some food? We could go get food."

"Yeah, I was hoping to go out for lunch. Or even dinner later?" John shrugged. "I can stay late," he added lamely.

"You can stay as late as you want -- you can stay until she comes back if you want," Sherlock said, realising he probably sounded too eager. "Why don't we go see Mrs Hudson? She's probably got something for us to eat and we can get dinner later?"

"Yeah, all right," John nodded. He set his mug down and stood up, stretching. "Staying here one night will be okay." Any longer than that might make it difficult to go out and get his affairs sorted unnoticed.

"You don't have to," Sherlock said quietly. He was worried now that Mrs Hudson would think he'd bullied John into it. He stood up as well, picking up both mugs and putting them in the sink. "Come on then. She'll be glad to see you," he said, heading downstairs, calling for her. When he got to her door, he knocked twice and was grinning stupidly when she opened up. "John's come to see us," he said, stepping to the side so she'd see John.

"Hello," John smiled. 

"John! How lovely to see you -- he's been an absolute mess," she said. She whispered the last part, pulling away to make some tea.

"It's good to see you, too. I'm going to stay for the night, like old times," he smiled.

"Oh that's nice," she thought for a moment to the last time John had spent the night with Sherlock. "You won't get drunk again, will you? I don't want you boys asleep on the stairs again."

"I'll have to sleep out on the stairs," Sherlock said. "I can't sleep in the same flat as John now, Mrs Hudson. He's a married man. I'll just drag my blanket out on the steps to sleep so no rumours get started." He didn't really know what he was saying. He just felt a bit giddy that he'd have John to himself for a while. He smiled over at Mrs Hudson who smiled back at him. Like his troubles were their little secret and for now, his troubles were gone.

"Don't be stupid," John said, shaking his head. "It's not like I'm sleeping in your bed."

"I was just joking," Sherlock said. Then he had a thought. "Does Mary know you're here?" He didn't like bringing her up, but he didn't want to worry that with one phone call she could ruin their time together.

"She's out of town," he said again. He shrugged and watched Mrs Hudson in the kitchen. "It doesn't matter where I am -- I mean, I'm allowed to visit my best friend."

Sherlock felt like grumbling or at the very least smirking -- Mary was the cause of John leaving and there was no denying that -- but he didn't let himself grumble or smirk. "Have you got something for us to eat?" he asked Mrs Hudson. "Come on now, don't be a bad hostess." He stood up and opened her fridge door, looking in.

"I'm making sandwiches, Sherlock. Sit down and stay out of my fridge." She smiled and led him back to the table. A few minutes later she put a plate in front of each of them before sitting down with them.

"You say Mary is out of town?" she asked John.

"Just for a couple days," John shrugged. He wished they'd stop talking about that.

"Mrs Hudson misses you," Sherlock said. "She's always going on about how it's not the same without you here. It's really rather rude of her, when you think about it -- I'm still here, of course, but I don't think that matters to her." Sherlock took a small bite of sandwich. "Where's the tea?" he asked.

Mrs Hudson raised her brows at John with a look that very clearly said he was an idiot if he thought for a moment that what Sherlock said was true.

"Mrs Hudson knows she can call me to come visit whenever she wants to," John grinned at Sherlock. "Married life isn't as busy as I thought it would be."

"But the baby, John, that will change all of that for you. Neither you nor Mary will have any time once the baby arrives," she said, watching Sherlock's face carefully, willing him to keep his mouth shut. Which thankfully he did.

John focused on his sandwich now. "Well, we'll see," he said quietly before taking a big bite so he couldn’t say more about it.

Sherlock did not look at John as he spoke but he noted the strange phrasing, the way his voice sounded just a bit different than it ever had before when he spoke of the baby. He swallowed his food and said, "We're going out for dinner later. Do you want to join us?"

Mrs Hudson smiled at Sherlock. "I don't think so, but thank you for inviting me."  
  
Sherlock smiled back at her.

"It's been a while since we've gone to Angelo's. Do you mind going there?" John asked. "And maybe we could order in tomorrow so it can really be like old times," he smiled.

Now Sherlock looked over at John and smiled. Order in tomorrow as well -- was he going to stay a few days? "Sounds good," he said, finishing his sandwich.

"But when does Mary come back?" Mrs Hudson asked, looking at John a bit confused.

"Couple days, like I said," John shrugged, not committing to anything properly.

Something was happening -- Sherlock didn't know what, but something was happening. And for once, he decided he didn't want to know. He'd find out soon enough, he was sure. But for now, he was just glad John was here.

"Well, that's nice then. I'm glad you came to see Sherlock and didn't just stay at home all alone," she smiled.

"Of course," John smiled, looking over at Sherlock.

Sherlock imagined John in his new house with Mary -- but it was too hard to picture. He had been there once, he knew where it was, but he hadn't gone inside. It would have been too hard to see John at 'home' somewhere other than the flat.

They sat with Mrs Hudson a bit longer, finishing their food and then a cup of tea before going back up to the flat.


	2. Like Old Times, Kind Of

Sherlock offered to show John an experiment he'd been working on and watched his face carefully to try to see if he were really interested. He seemed to be, which made Sherlock feel good.

"I knew you'd be working on something," John smiled. "You know, sometimes I miss a random head in the fridge."

"Well, I'll go out and get one if you'd like company for the next day," Sherlock said. He looked over at John. It still didn't feel quite normal, not quite the same, but it was a million times better than not having John here at all. "What do you want to do until dinner?" he asked.

John moved around the sitting room for a moment and then looked back at Sherlock. "I don't know . . . let's go bother Molly at the morgue or something. I want to do something like old times," he smiled. He felt like he was saying that a lot, but he had missed adventures with Sherlock more than he had realised.

"All right then," Sherlock said. "That sounds good." They headed out and over to the hospital. He had John stay in the hallway and went into find Molly. "I've got something for you in the hallway," he said, smiling a bit stupidly. 

Molly blinked at him and felt her stomach tighten with nerves. "For me?" she asked, fully aware of how breathless she sounded. "What is it?"

"Go see," he said. "I think you'll be very happy."

Molly stepped cautiously towards the door, pressing her palms down the front of her lab coat and then fussing her hair a bit. She stepped out and turned to see John. There was a second of disappointment and then she called, "John!" and leaned in to give him a hug. "We've missed you," she said, before whispering, "He has missed you so much."

John smiled and hugged her back, not missing the fact that two people had warned him of that fact already. "Hello, Molly. How've you been?" He asked.

"I'm all right," she said. "You look…" She looked him over carefully and the word that came to mind first was 'different' but that didn't seem right. "You look right back into the swing of things with him," she said instead, pulling him in to the lab. "Did you make some tea, Sherlock? Are you two here on a case?"

Sherlock moved over to turn on the kettle. "No case," Sherlock said. "Just a friendly visit. You know me, I'm all about the friendly visits."

Molly raised her brows and didn't comment. "John? Are you staying at the flat? For how long?" 

"Well, a couple days, I think. That is if Sherlock doesn't kick me out," he teased. 

"We'll see," Sherlock said. "I've got used to being on my own." Which wasn't quite true but which made Sherlock stop to think about how long he'd been on his own before he met John and, of course, those two years when Sherlock was gone. In fact the time he'd been with John was relatively short in the grand scheme of things. Yet, how he missed having John around, how he hated being alone now.

John glanced at Molly, who was now trying to hide her skepticism, before he looked at Sherlock and shrugged. "Well, I don't mean to impose -- I could go home tonight if it's going to be a bother..." He hoped Sherlock didn't agree to that but he watched closely to try and read his real feelings. 

"Stop saying that," Sherlock said to John. "I can't tell if you're teasing, but stop." He turned to Molly. "Do you have any dead people you want John to look at?"

"Um, no, I don't have anything for him to look at, but I thought you were actually here for something. I have a body pulled from the Thames if you want to test bruising or whatever," Molly smiled. 

"What do you think, John?" Sherlock said. "It's up to you."

"Sure, you know I like seeing you at work," he smiled. "What are you going to hit it with?"

"I still have the riding crop there, but there's also a cane and a length of chain," Molly pointed. 

"I'm not going to hit it -- when did the two of you get interested in such crude behaviour?" Sherlock said. "Let's just have a look. Did he drown?"

"Yeah, lungs filled completely. And you hit bodies all the time . . ." Molly pointed out, but Sherlock acted like he didn't hear her.

"Was it an accident?" John asked. 

"No. He was in the last stage of colon cancer and he just . . . you know," she said. 

"Bit pathetic really," Sherlock said. "It wouldn't feel right hitting him even if I fancied it which I don't." He walked around the body, looking it over. "You've not got anyone else -- no deaths from unknown causes? I was just hoping to keep John entertained until dinner." He lifted the guy's hand and looked at his wrist and then fingers. Unmarried.

John watched him moving around the table, examining the body. "I just wanted to visit Molly," he said. "Want to go for a walk until dinner? By the time we're there, it'll be time to eat." 

Sherlock looked up at John. "Thanks anyway, Molly," Sherlock said, moving over to the sink to wash his hands. "It was good to see you. Call us, I mean, give me a call if you've got anything interesting." He held the door open for John and gave Molly a little smile.

"Bye," Molly said, raising her hand in a wave. 

"Sorry I can't make up my mind," John said as they left. 

"What do you mean? About what?" Sherlock said quickly.

"I just mean I'm sending us all over the place," John said. 

"It doesn't matter," Sherlock said. "We can do whatever you want and we can stop doing it whenever you want. We've got no responsibilities at the moment -- that must feel good to you."

"Yeah," John nodded. "Let's just slowly make our way over to Angelo's." They walked in silence for a little bit and John looked over at him. "We should hang out more -- like once a week so this doesn't happen again."

"So what doesn't happen?" Sherlock asked.

"Too much time apart. Awkwardness. Missing you," he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I shouldn't be missing my best friend. I should be spending time with him . . ." 

"Why do you miss me? You have her and the baby and all that. Why would you miss me?"

"It's different. I mean, of course I miss you," John said, looking over at him. 

"Well," Sherlock said. Then he quietly added, "I miss you too."

John nodded, looking forward again. "Well . . .right. So once a week, yeah?" 

"Yeah, once a week," Sherlock said. He was so glad that things were starting to feel normal again.

When they got to Angelo's John held the door open, following Sherlock to their usual table. "And for cases, of course," he added so that Sherlock didn’t think he meant _only_ once a week.

"There haven't been a lot of cases," Sherlock admitted. "Or just rather Lestrade's not been calling as much. I don't really know why. It just feels like I've not had much to do as of late. It's been boring."

For some reason this made John feel bad, as if it was his fault nothing criminal was happening in London. "Well . . . hopefully people will start murdering again soon," he tried to joke, smiling at Sherlock. 

"Hopefully," Sherlock said. He didn't mention that he had turned cases down. That he felt like he couldn't be bothered to even get involved.

Angelo made quite a fuss when he saw John. Sherlock smiled genuinely. He remembered times they'd been together -- things that he had memorised and relived over and over while he'd been gone but things he found too sad to remember just recently. It all seemed normal for a few minutes.

"I tell anyone who will listen about our first night here," John smiled. "The night you fixed my leg and I accidentally asked you out," he chuckled. 

"Did you ask me out?" Sherlock said. "I don't remember that. Did I say yes or no?"

"You said no -- well, you said you were flattered but you were married to your work," John smiled. "But I also said no."

"Why'd you ask me out then if you were going to say no? That doesn't make any sense." He took a sip of wine, which tasted quite nice.

"I told you, it sort of happened by accident," John said. "Then you turned me down and I was embarrassed," he shrugged. "So I completely denied it." Angelo came with their food and John pulled his plate closer, glancing at the candle he had set down as well. 

"I guess I don't remember it," Sherlock said. "I suppose it's a good thing Mary didn't say no when you asked her." He wasn't sure why he'd said it or what it even meant, but Sherlock could feel himself blurring the line between the past and now -- and preferring the past -- and maybe that wasn't a very good idea.

"She asked me, actually," John said, thinking back to it now. John had still been too upset over Sherlock to really think about dating, and she had been very insistent. "But that's all behind us now."

"I suppose it is," Sherlock said. "At least you'll never have to go through that business again -- the dating and all that. I guess that's something good." He took another sip. "I'm sorry -- I feel like I was never really help in that area. But you know . . . I just don't understand it. But now you're married. For life. So that's all, as you say, behind you now."

"Well, you don't have to be married for dating to be behind you," John said, shrugging lightly.

"True," Sherlock said. "But getting married ends it for good." He looked up at John, not sure why he wasn't acting like this was a good thing. Surely he remembered all those fruitless dates and disappointments. Shouldn't he be glad he'll never have to go through that again?

"Yeah, if it works out," John nodded. _If you don't have a lying wife. Or if you don't realise you're actually in love with someone else._ "So you still say dating's not your area?"

Sherlock smiled a little. "Do you really think I've changed that much? No, John Watson, you won't see me going out on dates with a string of women I don't actually like. That's never going to happen." He tapped his glass to John's. "Why have you gone so maudlin? If your attitude doesn't pick up, I'll refuse to allow you any more alcohol. We're supposed to having fun, not drinking to depression." He smiled properly now and added, "Is your food okay?" hoping to change the subject to something lighter.

"I was merely asking a question," John smiled, pulling his glass out of Sherlock's reach. "No interest at all, then?" He was trying to figure out if Sherlock had changed his mind about being married to his work, so for now he ignored the subject change.

"Why? Now that you found the one, you're suddenly a professional matchmaker? I don't need you setting me up on any dates with Mary's friends," Sherlock said.

"That's not why I'm wondering!" John said exasperated. He sighed dramatically and shook his head. "Never mind. The food is delicious. I hope yours is as well."  He pulled his plate closer and went back to eating properly, almost finished now.

"Is that why you don't visit much anymore -- because I'm on my own?" Sherlock said. "Is that why you're going on about this, pushing me to find a partner, just so we could double date?"

"No! It's just hard. . ." John said, not elaborating what that meant exactly.

"Why? Because you felt bad for me?" Sherlock said. "Mrs Hudson told me I was supposed to leave you alone so you didn't feel guilty. I tried. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Honestly."

"What? No! I didn't feel bad, exactly. I just -- wait, were you purposely not contacting me?" John licked his lips lightly and looked down. That made him feel bad. "I told you that I missed you."

"I was a little bit purposely not contacting you," Sherlock said. "I suppose I was advised to. I haven't always made the best decisions with regards to you . . . I think you know I never meant to hurt you, that was never my purpose -- quite the opposite -- but I know I did hurt you. So I was trying not to hurt you more."

"You mean by leaving?" John asked, hating to bring it up again. "I would have thought it was obvious afterwards that I wanted to spend as much time with you as I could."

"Really?" Sherlock said. "That's not how I remember it." He didn't want to have an argument, but John was misremembering. "It was obvious you wanted to spend time with her."

"Sherlock, I kept a bloody bag packed in case you called for a case! I wouldn't hear from you for weeks and she was always yelling at me to just shut up about you." He flushed and pulled his empty plate closer, realised there was nothing for him to be distracted with there and then grabbed his wine instead.

Sherlock didn't look up. "And when did you tell me this? When did you tell me? You didn't. John, you never told me any of this."

"I know because you weren't . . . we weren't talking," he said into his glass.

"No, John," Sherlock said. "That's not us." He looked up at him now. "We can always talk. Don't ever forget that." He took a quick drink. "I'm sorry I listened to someone else. I should have talked to you."

John nodded. "It's okay. Now that we know we'll fix it . . . we'll do better."

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Do you want to start talking now?"

John looked up and considered it. He nodded.

"Why have you come back to the flat, John? What's going on?" Sherlock asked.


	3. Sherlock Finds Out The Truth

John swirled his wine and shook his head. "Nothing is 'going on'," he said, looking up at Sherlock. "I told you already."

"You're lying," Sherlock said and for a moment it was like none of what had happened over the last few months had happened. It was like no one in the world mattered but John and Sherlock. He didn't really smile, but he felt himself relax a bit. "You don't have to tell me until you're ready, but I know you're lying."  
  
John looked at him for a long time and then down at his plate. He'd been an idiot to think that Sherlock wouldn't notice. "Not here," he said simply, picking up his fork and just setting it down again.

Sherlock made a little nod and sat quietly for a few minutes. "I'm glad you've come home, John," he said softly.

John looked up again and for a wild, split second he thought that somehow Sherlock had pulled some trick to get him back. But no. That was stupid. "Do you know how sorry I am for taking her back after she almost killed you?" John asked quietly and he wished they could go now.

So this was about Mary, Sherlock thought. "It's okay," he whispered. "We're okay."

John let out a long breath and rubbed his face hard. They needed to do this -- he just needed to get it out. "Can we go home?" he mumbled.

"Of course," Sherlock said. He looked up and made a motion to Angelo. Within a few minutes they were on the street, extra food boxed up for them to take home. They were walking quickly. "You're physically all right, yes?" Sherlock asked, not looking over but continuing their quick pace.

John nodded, but he didn't speak. He was thinking too hard, trying to get everything organised in the right order to explain.

Sherlock unlocked the flat and led them upstairs. He stuck the leftovers in the fridge and put the kettle on, bringing the mugs into the lounge. He set one on the table for John and then sat down in his chair. He didn't say anything.

"I got in a fight with Mary," he started. He took his coat off and sank into his chair across from Sherlock. He felt tired suddenly.

"I see," Sherlock said. "So she's not away? Have you just come here to cool off?" His mind was going too fast to feel like he understood things yet.

John shook his head. "I need to . . .I want to move back in," he said, skipping the whole middle of the story.

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Of course." He looked over at John who was looking down at his mug. It was selfish but his first thought was how glad he was to have John home.

John swallowed hard and kept his eyes down. He had expected to feel angry retelling the story, but he was surprised to feel ashamed for some reason. "The baby isn't mine," he said quietly.

"I see," Sherlock said again. Then he added, "I'm sorry."

"I'm such a bloody idiot, Sherlock." Now John was getting angry again.

"We both made mistakes, John," Sherlock said. "You're not an idiot."

"I am, Sherlock. I am an idiot because I married the only woman who could be a bloody assassin, an assassin who tried to kill my best friend, and I have to leave her now not because of any of that but because she cheated. She cheated like . . . like an ordinary person, like being a fucking assassin wasn't enough for one person." He covered his face again and squeezed his eyes shut.

"You are drawn to complicated characters, it seems," Sherlock said feebly. "I'm sorry, John. I don't know what to say. Do you want to try to work it out or are you done for good?" Sherlock knew which one he thought was the best choice, but hoped he could be supportive if John chose the other.

"Don't. Don't tell me that again," John said, looking down again. He hated that excuse -- that he was picking these sort of people to have in his life. "We are not going to work it out. I am finished with her. I'm going to file for divorce tomorrow."

Sherlock took a long breath in and then let it out slowly. He swallowed and then said, "All right, John. I don't know that there's anything I could say to make you feel better. Maybe there is but you know these things aren't my strong point. So I will just say I support whatever you do. I too made a mistake with her, and I don't want to make another one. You're home now and whatever you need, I will provide it for you." He swallowed again, hoping that came out as he'd intended.

John looked up and wondered if Sherlock suspected how John felt about him.

Sherlock met John's eye. "I don't know what to say now, John," he said honestly, feeling a bit stupid.

"You don't have to say anything. Let's just . . . try to be normal. And hang out," he said. "Like old times."

"All right," Sherlock said with a little smile. That he could do. He got up and dug the remote from the side of his chair and handed it to John, plopping down on the sofa. "Choose what you want," he said.

John took the remote and smiled, moving over to the sofa and slouching comfortably beside him. He started flipping through the channels, glancing at Sherlock. "Any chance your brother can help me with a speedy divorce?"

"Probably," Sherlock said. "I'll contact him, yeah? I don't see why he couldn't help since he knows some of the . . . complications." He looked over at John. "We'll get it sorted, okay?"

John nodded again, reaching over to pat Sherlock's thigh. Just once. "Thanks, Sherlock."

"You're welcome," Sherlock said. "You don't have to thank me actually. I'm your friend, right? That's the kind of things friends do."

John smiled. "I can still thank you," he said. "You're a good friend."

"I'm going to try harder this time, John," Sherlock said. He turned and looked back at the television. "Just tell me when I'm doing anything wrong, yeah?"

"You never did anything wrong, Sherlock. You're a good friend, I mean it," he murmured.

"Obviously, I'm an excellent friend as I'm excellent at most things I do," Sherlock said smiling. "But this is one thing you've obviously better than me at doing so I intend to be even better than I was." He looked over at John. "Quit hassling me now." He turned back to the television and smiled a little to himself.

"All right, relax," John laughed softly, slouching a bit more.

"I am now . . . that you're home," Sherlock said quietly. "I've hated your being gone," he added even more quietly.

John's smile faltered and he licked his lips guiltily. "I'm sorry I didn't come around more," he said quietly.

"It's not that, John. It's not that I wanted more visits," Sherlock said. "I didn't want you to have gone."

"I didn't want you to have gone either," John whispered before he could help it.

That stung a bit. "Well, we're both home now," Sherlock said.

John nodded. Home. How could he have ever thought he would find it anywhere else? "This movie is boring, huh?"

"It is, but you normally like boring films so I presumed it'd be right up your street," Sherlock said.

"I do not like boring films, Sherlock. And I can't trust your judgment because you think everything is boring," he said. 

"True. I've hardly had the television on since you left," Sherlock said. Which wasn't quite true. Sometimes he left it on just to hear noise, sometimes he left it on to pretend John was in the other room watching it.

"Hmm. I don't believe you because there's no way you're missing your usual crap telly," he smiled. 

"Mrs Hudson gave me updates," Sherlock said. He looked over at John. "Your room's not changed by the way. You can move straight back in."

"And here I thought you would have turned it into a lab or something," he teased. 

"Obviously not," Sherlock said. "I told you you'd always have a home here and I meant it." His voice was quiet, but it surprised him to hear it was quite serious all of a sudden.

"Hey -- I was teasing," John said gently. "Actually, I think I would like to go to bed." He yawned.

"All right," Sherlock said. He stretched his arms a bit into the air and then found himself yawning. "It appears I might be ready as well. It's been an unusual day but a good one." He stood up and got himself a glass of water. He turned to look back at John. "Um, I've been leaving a lamp on in the sitting room . . . you know, just in case I fancy getting up to work," he said. Which was a little bit of a lie but he thought it sounded better than the truth.

"Oh, I don't mind. I won't be able to see the light from my room anyway," John said. He sensed something else was going on because Sherlock never left a light on before, but he didn't question it. 

"Well, if you need anything . . . text me. Or just come get me, I guess," Sherlock said. "See you in the morning." He headed to his room where he changed into his pajamas and got into bed. It seemed strange, having John back. He didn't want it to -- he wanted it to feel normal. He knew it would soon. He was sure of it.

John went up to his own room, making a mental note to go get his bag in the morning and pay for his room. For tonight he just stripped down to his boxers. He couldn't believe he was here. As he tried to sleep, he heard Mary's words over and over in his head.  He had always dreamed about having a family, but everything was so different now. 

Sherlock couldn't settle -- it was just too different. It had taken him so long to get used to being alone in the flat again and now, despite his being so grateful John was back, he'd have to get used to another change. After a while, he got up and quietly made himself a cup of tea.

John turned his head towards the door as he heard Sherlock moving around downstairs. He was half way up before he changed his mind and lay down again. He had disrupted Sherlock's life enough by suddenly coming back like this. If he wanted some quiet time on his own, then he was allowed to have it. John turned in his side and tried to sleep again.

Sherlock looked up at John's room. John was in it. He was sleeping in his bed, just like he had before everything that had happened happened. God, why hadn't Sherlock appreciated that before? Just knowing he was there gave Sherlock such a sense of comfort -- he'd had to give it up for those two years, but he never dreamt John would be gone when he returned. And now he was home again. Sherlock smiled at the thought as he took his tea back into his bedroom.


	4. Like Old Times, For Real

John had nightmares about Mary, made even more unsettling by the fact that it was just a series of real fights they had been having about Sherlock. When he woke up, even though it was so early, he was relieved and he didn't try to sleep again. He got up and, while Sherlock slept, went to get his belongings and settle his room charge. When he came home he started making some breakfast.

Sherlock had gone to sleep shortly after finishing his tea and slept through the night. When he heard John in the kitchen, he thought about getting up but instead he just called, "Tea, please!" He did this pretty much only because he could. He'd happily get up and get his own tea as he had every morning since John had left. But today John was home and he thought he'd try the shout just in case it might work. He lay there a few minutes, not even aware that he was smiling.

"Sorry, this kitchen doesn't offer a delivery service," John called back, smiling wide as he cracked his eggs.

"Outrageous," Sherlock said as he got up and slipped his dressing gown on. He came out of his room and was almost overwhelmed by how lovely it was to see John there. "Sleep okay?" he asked.

"Eh, not exactly but I'll live," John smiled, passing him a mug. "Breakfast?"

"Maybe," Sherlock said. "I mainly need tea. What's your plan for the day?" he asked, yawning and scratching his head a bit.

John shrugged. "I was hoping to speak to your brother, actually."

"Yeah, that's fine, we can call him," Sherlock said. "Whenever you want." He took a long sip of tea. "Thanks," he said. "Yours always did taste better than mine."  
  
"You can say that again," he teased, joining Sherlock with his breakfast, and a bit extra if he wanted any. "I would like to get it over with as soon as possible," he said.

"Do you want me to handle it or do you want to talk to him? You might have to tell him everything -- do you care?" Sherlock asked. He picked up a fork and took a bite of eggs from John's plate.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he knows everything already . . . if he knew all along," John said.

"He only knew what we knew," Sherlock said. "I'm sure he would've said something if he'd known something else. Yes, I know he would have at least told me."

"Well, either way I will tell him whatever he needs to know to get this done." Mary hadn't called or anything yet and he wondered if she would. He didn't know which he would prefer. He didn't want to talk to her but a small part of him wanted to be able to ignore her.

"What do you think she will do?" Sherlock asked John. He could see on his face he was thinking of her.

John shrugged. "She was so upset when I said I was leaving," he said. "I expected her to do something crazy but so far nothing."

"I hope she just . . . leaves you alone," Sherlock said. "Just a clean break, once and for all." He took another bite and then set the fork down.

"I hope so, too," he said, sipping at his tea.

"All right, let's get it over with," Sherlock said. He went to get his phone and rang Mycroft. He held the phone out and said, "You or me?"

John took the phone and explained to Mycroft what he needed and asked if he could do it quickly. After assuring John that it would be done by the end of the day, he asked for Sherlock and John passed the phone back to him.

"Now that John's back I just want to remind you not to do anything foolish," Mycroft said.

"Hmm. . . I believe you said the same thing to me when John left," Sherlock said. "Yet I remain the least foolish person you know."  
  
"Yes, you keep telling yourself that," Mycroft said. "Tell John I'll be in touch when I need his signature." He hung up.

"Always charming," Sherlock said sarcastically, setting his phone on the table. "Now what?" he asked John as he moved to sit on the sofa.

John shrugged again. "I don't have work until Monday, so I'm free. Still no cases?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "Let me check." He got up and checked his email but there was nothing. He sent quick one to Lestrade that just said "John and I need a case." Then he looked up. "Nothing. What do you want to do today? Whatever you pick -- go somewhere or just do nothing -- today you're in charge." He smiled. "Tomorrow . . . we'll see, but today, you're the boss."

"Oh," John said, thrown off by that. "I don't know. Do we need to go shopping -- groceries or anything?"

"Obviously, yes," Sherlock said. "You've pretty much just eaten all the food I had in the flat." He smiled. "Should we go together?"

"Yes, of course we should," he grinned.

"God, you're not even back 24 hours and you're already nagging me," Sherlock said, standing up. "Fine, I'll go get dressed." Sherlock went into his room. He'd really missed John's nagging, John's trying to make him eat, just everything about John.

John grinned and went to his own room to change before going through the cabinets and fridge to see what they needed.

Sherlock came out dressed and sat down to watch John making a list. He acted impatient but quite enjoyed watching John, being at home again. "We've got your brand of shampoo," he said. "I guess I just got used to the smell."

John smiled over at Sherlock and felt something odd at the words. "Oh, well thanks," he said. "I mean, that's good." He finished the list and led the way out, making Sherlock point out things about people walking by as they made their way to the store. In moments like this he almost forgot about Mary and everything he was going through. Not completely, but almost. 

When they got back home he had to con Sherlock into helping him put the groceries away, making a deal that the next morning he would bring him tea to his room if he did. Then he reheated the leftovers from the day before and put the news on while sitting on the sofa with him. "See? That wasn't so bad."

"I suppose not," Sherlock said. "After we eat, I can show you another project I've been working on -- no body parts, I swear."

"Oh yeah, I would like that," John smiled. 

When the food was ready, Sherlock went to the kitchen and brought the food in. They watched television while they ate and once they were finished, Sherlock carried the plates in and washed up. After they had a cup of tea, Sherlock talked John through his experiment. He knew that John didn't get quite as excited about these things as Sherlock did, but he'd missed being able to talk about them with someone. With John.

"I missed these random experiments," John smiled. "My life was so . . . boring, compared to this."

"Shut up," Sherlock said, laughing. "You're lying. I know you -- I bet there was plenty you liked about being married. Excluding the details of her, you are so the marrying type."

"Being married doesn't mean being boring, you prat. That's not the part that made it boring," he said. "I missed the cases and the experiments and all of it. She hated when I talked about it."

Sherlock moved over to the sofa. "But what things did you like about it?" he asked.

"Being in love . . . knowing I didn't have to chase it anymore," John admitted. If only he'd known sooner he was trying with the wrong person.

"Oh god," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "Does that mean you're going to start chasing it again?"

"You know, it's not awful to want to be loved, Sherlock."

"Why don't you just let the people who love you already love you, instead of always chasing someone new?" Sherlock said. "Look, I don't want to get into a whole thing. I was just trying to find out if there were new things you found out you liked living with her. If you want, I could try to do them here now, that's all . . ."

"No one loves me like that . . . I mean," John said, not entirely sure what he or Sherlock meant. "And unless you're offering sex . . . I don't think we need to try to be like it was at that house," he said, trying to lighten the conversation.

"I don't mean to be mean, John, but what she gave you wasn't love. You're so obsessed with that kind of love, you couldn't even see that," Sherlock said gently. Then he stood up and stretched a little. "And if you're now so used to it that you're going to be needing to have sex all over this flat everyday, well, just take the necessary precautions. Condoms and all that . . ." He smiled and moved to the bathroom. "I think I'm going to take a bath and read for a bit, okay?"

John watched him get up and felt a wash of shame. Didn't she love him at all? Enough to give up her secret life in the first place? Sure that love was twisted when she was willing to kill his best friend to keep it but . . . not even at the beginning? He'd been so lost in his thoughts he didn't hear Sherlock and he looked over. "What did you say?" 

"I said I'm taking a bath," Sherlock called. "You can pick out a film to watch when I get out if you want or we could have an early night." He shut the door and moved to turn on the bath.

As silly as it was, John was now wallowing in self-pity. After realising that he loved Sherlock, and given the way he had lost him, he had been sure that there would be no one else. Whatever Mary had done he couldn't lie and say he never loved her. He opened up and let her in, not easily, and it had all gone to shit. Again. And oddly enough he had almost lost Sherlock. Again. He opted for the early night and went up to his room, changing into his pajamas and crawling into bed. 

Sherlock sank down into the hot water before realising he hadn't actually brought a book in with him. That was okay, he wasn't in the mood for reading. He needed to think about John.

All he wanted was to do everything to ensure that John would stay with him for always, to ensure that he'd never leave him again. Sherlock did not pause to really analyse this desire: he just knew it was true. But now John was already talking about wanting to start chasing love again. It made Sherlock sad.

John had so many people who loved him. Including Sherlock? Of course, including Sherlock -- Sherlock loved John and John loved Sherlock. Surely they must because everything that happened between them was more than just what happened between two flatmates. The only difference Sherlock could see was that they didn't have sex with each other. And now Sherlock knew that was a big difference to John. The way he was talking . . . well, soon, John would start missing it and he'd be off on his chase again.

Which was kind of daft, Sherlock thought, but if John really just wanted sex, why hadn't he ever considered asking Sherlock for it? Just like John was the only person Sherlock loved, he was the only person Sherlock had thought about having sex with. But John was so hung up on women. It was annoying. Everything could be perfect -- just what both of them wanted -- if John weren't so hung up on women.

Eventually Sherlock got out of the bath and dried off, slipping quickly into his room to put his pajamas on. But when he came out, he saw that John had already gone up to bed so Sherlock headed back into his own room, grabbed a book, and got into bed. He reached for his phone and sent John a quick text.

_Good night. SH_


	5. Something Different

John didn't hear his phone because he was already dozing off, drifting in and out of dreams. His mind stuck to one where Mary shot John when he was pretending to be Sherlock, only the dream switched them last minute and Sherlock was shot and bleeding into John's lap. All of his medical training left him and Sherlock simply died in his arms. He gasped and woke up, sitting up and covering his face. They had cut it so close that day. He flopped back down and sighed. He couldn't get to sleep again so he got up to make some tea, hoping it could calm him down.

When he got no response, Sherlock assumed that John had already gone to sleep, though that seemed odd. He tried to focus on his book. Then he heard John in the kitchen. That also seemed odd. "If you're making a cup of tea, I'll take one," he called loudly.

John didn't shout back but he smiled softly and pulled out another mug. When it was ready he took them both to Sherlock's room, let himself in, and then climbed into his bed without asking. "Only because you helped with the groceries," he said, leaning back against the headboard. 

Sherlock nodded thanks for the tea. "I thought you were already asleep," he said, taking a small sip.

"I was. And then I woke up," John said, rolling his head to the side to look at him. 

"Something wrong?" Sherlock asked. "Are you mad at me for saying what I said? I'm sorry . . .I wasn't trying to be mean."

"What? No," John shook his head. "I had a nightmare," he shrugged. 

"Like before?" Sherlock asked, remembering the nights when John had first arrived and had dreams about Afghanistan.

John shook his head. "No, not like before. Stuff about Mary," he said vaguely. 

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said. He set down his mug and moved a little lower on the bed. "I don't know what to say." He sat quietly for a moment. "Do you want to sleep in here so you're not alone?"

John blinked for a moment and swallowed nervously. "Yes," he said quietly, slouching to lay down on his side. 

Sherlock wiggled a bit to get comfortable enough to try to sleep. "You'll never be alone, John," he said softly. "You'll always have me, you know." He closed his eyes.

"I know," John mumbled, closing his own eyes.

"Wake me up if you need me," Sherlock whispered. He reached out and brushed his hand over John's arm, letting it rest right beside it.  
  
John closed his eyes tighter at the feeling of Sherlock's hand on him. His skin went warm, and he tried to keep calm as he fell asleep again.

Sherlock listened to John's breath grow calmer and slower and softer. This was nice, being next to John like this. He wondered if they could sleep like this again, without John first having to have a nightmare. He took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. He knew he'd probably relax a little bit soon, or at least hoped he'd would, because if things were going to be normal again, they couldn't be together twenty four hours a day. At some point John would have to go to work, at some point Sherlock would probably even want to be on his own. But at this moment, Sherlock felt like he wanted to keep John in his presence forever.

John peeked his eye open when he heard Sherlock release his long breath. "Are you okay?"

Sherlock looked over at him. "Yeah," he said with a little smile. "It's just different, sleeping with someone else in the flat. I'm so glad though, John, I am. I feel like I've spent all this time just waiting for you to come home and then feeling guilty for wanting you to."

"Don't feel guilty about it," John said uselessly. "Despite how it happened I'm happy to be home. And that you're willing to give me this comfort."

Sherlock looked over at John. "You give me comfort, John," he whispered. "The only one who ever has."

John nodded. "You too, Sherlock," he said quietly.

"I'm glad, John," Sherlock said. He shifted a little trying to get comfortable. "Are you going to be talking all night or will you let me sleep for once in your life?" he added, smiling as he closed his eyes again.

John grinned and flicked Sherlock's nose lightly. "Well, excuse me," he said.

"Shush," Sherlock said. "Good night, you. Wake me up if you need anything."

"Good night," John said again. This time he closed his eyes and properly tried to sleep, and it was so much easier this time. 

Sherlock fell asleep as well, staying there for most of the night. In the morning, he opened his eyes and saw John beside him. Yes, this was definitely nice. He touched John's face lightly and then pulled a bit on his hair. "It's morning, John Watson," he said.

"Shh," John murmured, curling up even more.

"Are you ever going back to work?" Sherlock asked.

"Sometime," he said, shifting again.

"Today?"

"Not today," John said, opening his eyes now.

"Then let's not get up yet," Sherlock said. "Let's just stay here until you feel like getting me a cup of tea."

"So we'll be lying here until next year," John smiled. "Since you woke me up so early."

"Go back to sleep then," Sherlock said. "Or have you got any other ideas?"

"What ideas? No," John said too quickly, closing his eyes again. "I told you I don't go until Monday."

"Fine, stop bothering me," Sherlock said. He rolled over away from John as if he were going to go back to sleep. "If you do get up, though, I'll have tea." He'd quite happily stay in bed all day actually.

John turned better on his side and watched Sherlock's back, tracing the lines, looking up at his hair and fighting the urge to touch it. Why on earth would he get up when he was given this rare chance? What if Sherlock didn't let him sleep here again tonight?

Sherlock breathed deeply -- he was relaxed, even though he knew he wouldn't actually go back to sleep. "I know I've already said this," he said softly. "But I'm glad you're home. Things are so much better when you're around."  
  
John smiled over at him. He wanted to say that things were better with Sherlock as well, that he can't believe he ever left and he would never do so again. But he couldn't because he was lying in Sherlock's bed and it might be too much. So he made a joke instead. "Bribery won't get you tea any faster," he said.

"You are cruel, John Watson," Sherlock said. Then he yawned. A real yawn. "Oh god," he said. "I might fall asleep if we stay here -- should we or do you want to get up? I . . . want to do whatever you do."

"If you're sleepy you can rest again," John said. "Maybe when you wake up there will be tea," he smiled.

"Don't go anywhere, though," Sherlock said, turning over and grabbing John's arm. "I mean, don't leave the flat without telling me, okay?"

"I'll stay right here," he said softly, touching Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock felt a little embarrassed. "Okay, shut up now," he said, rolling back over. "I'm trying to sleep."

John watched him roll over and lightly touched the spot his hand had just been touching. He reached out slowly and meant to touch Sherlock's shoulder softly, but he chickened out with his fingers hovering just above. He bit his lip and pulled his hand back. He couldn't risk ruining things now that he was back again.

Sherlock slept for a little while longer. It was like his whole body had finally relaxed -- now that John was back, there was no longer that little tension inside him that had existed since John had left. He didn't dream at all.

John turned on his back slowly before rolling out of the bed and going to the kitchen to make tea. As soon as the kettle was finished he brought both mugs to Sherlock's room again, wafting it in front of his face before putting it on his bedside table and climbing into bed again. 

Sherlock woke up when John got out of bed, but stay curled up because he was so comfortable. When John came back in, Sherlock said, "You're good." He sat up slowly and took a sip of tea. "I'm bored," he said. "What are we going to do?"

John shrugged. "I took you shopping yesterday. You pick today," he said, sipping at his own tea. 

"Let's check with Lestrade first," Sherlock said. He reached over for his phone and saw a text from Mycroft. "We need to stop by Mycroft's, it seems. You need to sign something." He sent a text to Lestrade. He finished his tea. "You need a shower, I think," he said.

John flushed and scooted away a bit. "That bad, huh? Let me go do that now and we can get going."

"I missed having someone to insult each day . . . yet another reason I'm glad you're home," Sherlock said. He got up and moved to pick out some clothes.


	6. Mary And Mycroft

John he made his way into the bathroom, laughing softly. He took a quick shower and went up to his room with a towel on, taking his time to pick out clothes. Finally he headed back down. His phone went off in his pocket.

_Stop this and come talk to me._

He paused and swallowed hard, shaking his head.

_I'm done talking. I'm going to sign the papers now. -JW_

_I won't._

John looked up to find Sherlock. "Can your brother still do this without her signing?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "Why? What's up?"

John looked down at the phone again but there was nothing new. "Mary is saying that she won't sign," he admitted.  

"It won't matter," Sherlock said. "He can do anything." He moved over and touched John's arm. "It won't matter." 

"I don't want this to turn into some kind of battle, you know?" 

"Listen to me," Sherlock said. "Mycroft can do anything, you know that. But so can I. We've seen her battles -- I can beat them. We can beat them."

When Sherlock said 'we've seen her battles' John reached up and touched his chest where the old wound was from the gunshot. "Not again," he said quietly. 

"Don't worry -- I'll wear a bullet proof vest if we have to see her," Sherlock said, smiling. "Now stop ruining my day by being serious. Let's go." He moved to the door to get his coat.

John was thrown off by Sherlock's casual response, but there was no use bringing him down with his own silly fears. He put his phone back into his pocket and grabbed his coat, before following Sherlock out. 

They walked along the street, heading towards Mycroft's office. "Hold on," Sherlock said. "I need to stop in here." He pulled John into a shop and up to the counter. He looked through the case and then said, "I'll take that one," pointing to one of the fountain pens.

"It's a Montblanc. Do you know how much it costs?" the shop assistant said.

"Doesn't matter," Sherlock said. He took out his wallet and handed his card to the man.

The man boxed up the pen and slipped it into a bag. Sherlock turned and handed it to John. "There," he said. "Sign it with class."

"I can't take this! Sherlock -- no," he said, shaking his head.

"Shut up," Sherlock said. "Once you sign the paper, we'll sell it and go on holiday." He smiled, pulling John out the shop again.

"Sherlock . . . I just . . ." He was holding it like the smallest move might shatter it. "Thanks," he said, putting it into the inner pocket of his coat. 

"You're welcome," Sherlock said. They continued on their way. When they arrived, Sherlock held the door open for John.

The woman at the desk motioned them in. Mycroft was sitting at his desk. "How do I always end up involved in the problems you two create?" He didn't look up.

"Have you solved this?" Sherlock said.

"Yes," he said. He pushed some papers towards the end of the desk.

"John," Sherlock said, nodding towards them.

"She said she won't sign," John said before he could help it. He pulled the papers closer and looked them over. He got out his new pen.

"Just sign the papers and leave the rest to me," he said, looking at John's pen and then at Sherlock with raised brows. John sighed his name and pushed them back again. That was all. Just like that, everything was over. 

"Thank you," he said as he put the pen away.

"You're welcome," Mycroft said. "May I ask that you two don't trouble me again for at least a fortnight? It's rather tedious." He slid the papers towards him and put them into a folder. "I'll let you know when it's all sorted. Now please leave my office."  
  
Sherlock looked at John and smiled. He moved towards the door.

John hesitated for just a second before getting up and leading the way out. "Always a pleasure, your brother," he said to Sherlock after they had left. 


	7. Sherlock's Ideas

Sherlock grabbed John's arm. "Let's celebrate," he said. "A night out -- like we did before you got married. Except this time, we're celebrating your coming home."

"Like a stag night for being flatmates again," John said. "Yeah, okay."

Sherlock was quite pleased with himself for thinking of the idea. "I'm not entirely sure I remember everything we did," he said. "But I remember some of it."

"We did drink a lot," John said. "And we played that game with the names."

"Hmm . . . it's kind of coming back. I don't think I was very good at it -- we can play a different game. And we'll have a nice dinner before so you don't get drunk so fast," Sherlock said.

"You were a lot drunker that I was," John laughed. "Of course I was spiking drinks so . . ." he trailed off and grinned. 

"You what?" Sherlock said. "I worked hard on that formula, you know."

"Formula?" John bit his lip as he kept smiling. "I kept mixing shots into everything when it was my turn to get drinks."

"No wonder it went so horribly wrong," Sherlock said. They were back at the flat now and he opened the door, grabbed the post and walked upstairs.

"So are we doing a pub crawl again?" John asked, moving into the kitchen for a snack. 

"Yeah, let's," Sherlock said. He walked over to his desk and got out a piece of paper to write a plan for the evening. "When do you want to get dinner?"

"Around seven?" John asked. He looked over at him. "Don't make a plan or I'll sneak you shots again. Let's just see how it goes."

"No, I like having a plan," Sherlock said. "You can screw it up if you want but that didn't work so well last time, did it? We should be drunk but not pass-out-on-the-stairs drunk." He looked over at John. "You look like you've put on weight. That'll change my calculations." He worked on his formula and then said, "I'm not going to ruin the fun. I just want to know what our target ideal amount is." He pulled a face at John.

"I haven't put on weight," John protested, patting his belly.

"Fine," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes a bit. "Go ahead and lie to me. However, now that you've established yourself as untrustworthy, it definitely means I'm in charge tonight." He scribbled a few things down on the paper. "Okay, there's a plan. A _loose_ plan," he emphasized. "But you don't get to have a say. I ruined the last one, I'm not going to ruin this one."

"What did you ruin? The last one was fun -- I had fun." John moved closer to look at his notes,  raising his brows. "So organised," he smiled.

"It was fun, but I . . . I just had a different plan," Sherlock said, grabbing the paper back. "Just let me be the boss of tonight, all right?"  
  
"Okay, boss. You're in charge," John said.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I'm going to take a bath. Dinner for seven -- dress nice, please." He disappeared into the bathroom.

John watched him go and looked down at his outfit before going up to his room and looking through his wardrobe. He didn't want to wear anything that he'd worn on a date before. He thought of the last stag night they had -- about what he could remember -- and he bit his lip. He'd played with their boundaries a bit and was surprised that Sherlock hadn't exactly been resistant. But they had been drunk and John had been getting married. He shook his head. Tonight he just needed to focus on having fun. No plans, just like he told Sherlock.  

Sherlock sank into the bath. The water was a little too hot, but he lay back and let it come up to his chin. He thought about the stag night. About what had happened and what hadn't happened. He hadn't told John not to marry Mary and every day since he wished he had.

He would make tonight right. He would make tonight what he'd wanted that stag night to be.

He washed himself and his hair and then got out, sliding into his room and choosing his clothes. Of course, he picked his purple shirt. He was not unaware of the effect it had on John. He fiddled with his hair a bit, saw that it was half past six, and came out of his room.

"You ready?" he called.

John jumped lightly when he heard Sherlock call up. "Almost," he said, moving to the mirror again. He was wearing proper black slacks and button up shirt, a matching vest and a coat. He fussed with his hair a bit, then a bit more, and he came down. "I'm ready," he said. "Are we leaving right now?"

"Shortly," Sherlock said. "I've just got a _loose_ plan, don't forget -- we don't have to stress about anything." He sat down in his chair. "You look handsome, by the way."

John sat down across from him and smiled softly. "You too," he said, glancing at Sherlock's shirt before looking around the room. 

Sherlock picked up the newspaper and held it up in front of his face to read. "I intended to," he said from behind it. "I'm taking a doctor out on a date tonight."

John flushed and felt his mouth fall open. "So . . . so is that what we're doing tonight? I mean, that's what we're calling it?" 

"We can call it whatever you want," Sherlock said. "Stag night's not quite correct, of course, but you can call it that or a lads' night out or a date. Whatever."

John closed his mouth, a bit disappointed. "Oh. All right then," he said. 

"I prefer to call it a date," Sherlock said. Then he put the paper down. "Ready?" he asked, standing up.

John nodded and stood as well. "Yeah, I'm ready," he said. 


	8. The Do Over, Part One

Sherlock got his coat on and helped John with his. They got a taxi and Sherlock gave the driver the address. They arrived at very fancy restaurant. "We're starting well," Sherlock said, holding the door open for John. "Since we're sober, I thought we could appreciate it. By the time we're drunk, we won't be as bothered about the decor." He smiled and led them inside.

"Mr Holmes," said the woman at the door. "Your table is ready."

John raised his brows lightly and looked around. This place was very nice -- it looked like it would have taken ages to get in. And the fact that Sherlock had 'a table' was not lost on him. "I feel like we're going to need to sell my pen to afford dinner," he said, and then shook his head. "Sorry. This is really nice, Sherlock. Honest. I'm just nervous, I guess."

"What? Why? Why would you be nervous with me?"

"No! Not about you," John said. "Just . . . about the night. I haven't been out in a while and I am thinking about the last time we did this and I'm just . . . excited. It's an excited nervous. It'll be fun."

"All right," Sherlock said. "I guess that's okay . . . but concentrate on the fun side, yeah? That's what I wanted that night. I want that tonight."

John nodded. "I know, Sherlock. Me too." He smiled and looked over his menu. "Do you have any recommendations?" 

"What do you think?" Sherlock said smiling. "I don't know what food is good. Well, I'm sure it's all good." He picked up the wine list. "I'll choose the wine, you choose the food. Pick one for me that you might like as well."

John looked over the menu twice before finally deciding on something French that he couldn't quite pronounce. The description sounded delicious and when it was time to order he did a lot of pointing.

Sherlock ordered the wine. He looked over at John. "I'm glad you're back, John," he said. He knew he'd already said it too much, but he just wanted to say it again.

"Me too, Sherlock. Whatever happens now, I'm home for good," John said.

"And will you come on cases with me?" Sherlock asked. "We'll be a team, like before?"

John nodded. "I can't wait for a case again," he said excitedly.

"Good," Sherlock said. "Good." He looked around the restaurant and saw the server bringing the wine. Once they each had a glass, Sherlock raised his. "To your new life which hopefully will be a bit like your life before. Our life." He reached over and clinked John's glass.

John smiled and couldn't think of anything to add. He took a big sip and then a deep breath, trying to calm down a bit. "Here's to being happy," he said.

Sherlock smiled. They chatted about Mrs Hudson and Sherlock's work, and John talked about some things going on at the surgery. When the food came, Sherlock tried a little. He made himself eat as much as he could to help line his stomach. "Yours good?" he asked.

"It's fantastic," John smiled wider. "You really know how to pick a restaurant."

"I do," Sherlock said. "I've got a few places we can go to for a drink, but if you've got any suggestions, just say." He ate a little more.

John shook his head. "No way, boss. Tonight I follow you," he smiled

"All right," Sherlock said. "Are you interested in going to a strip club?" he asked.

"What? No," John said, shaking his head. "I thought we were going to pubs and just having fun."

"Dancing?" Sherlock asked.

"Dancing?" John thought about it and wondered what exactly Sherlock meant. With him it could be fancy ballroom dancing or it could be a club like last time. Only they didn't dance last time. But maybe they would this time. "Yes. We can go dancing."

"Noted," Sherlock said. "Do you want to go to a place where it's likely a fist fight will break out?"

"That's everywhere if you harass people," John laughed softly.

Sherlock ignored that. "Martini bar?" he asked.

"Sounds fancy. That could be fun," he said.

"Biker bar?" Sherlock asked.

John wrinkled his nose. "No biker bar," he said.

"Okay," Sherlock said. "That gives me enough to go on. There's a fancier place a little down the road where we'll head first. Do you want dessert or anything?"

"No, I am stuffed," John smiled. "A fancy dance place?"

"No, cocktail," Sherlock said. "We'll let our food settle first before I let you out on the dancefloor. I don't want you yacking up this expensive food all over the place."

John laughed softly. "I think I'll be okay," he said.

"Should we go then?" Sherlock asked, pulling out his wallet. The server saw him and came over and Sherlock settled the bill. As they walked out, he said, "Don't add anything to my drinks, okay? I want the calculations to work and besides, I think that's actually illegal, and I'd hate to have to have you arrested on our date." He smiled as he led them to the first bar. The night air felt good on Sherlock's skin.

"I wasn't trying to harm you! You were just so stiff," John smiled.

"Not stiff," Sherlock said. "Just organised. But you sent all that to hell which led to disaster."

"No! You had fun, admit it," he smiled.

Sherlock looked over. "I did have fun," he said. "It's just . . . nothing, it doesn't matter." He pulled the door open at the bar, waiting for John to go in.

"No, tell me," John insisted. "I didn't mean to upset you," he said as he walked in.

"Shush," Sherlock said, walking up to the bar. He ordered his drink and asked for an umbrella for the glass. He smiled at John and waited for him to order. When they both had their drinks, Sherlock clinked their glasses. "You didn't upset me, John," Sherlock said once they'd sat down. "Not that night. It was a good night, don't worry."

"Okay. What were you going to say at the door?" John asked, sipping his drink.

"Perhaps I'll tell you later," Sherlock said. He looked around the room. "I hate everyone here," he said.

"How come?" John asked, looking around the whole place.

"Because they're all pretentious idiots," Sherlock said. "We don't really belong here. Because neither of us is a pretentious idiot obviously." He had more of his drink.

John looked around at them again and picked a random table out across the room, pointing it out to Sherlock. Then he leaned close and quietly made up their conversation to Sherlock, making it about dogs and pie.

Sherlock laughed. "What's worst about the whole thing is that you can tell they absolutely hate each other," Sherlock said. "They hate being here and they hate each other." He looked over at John. "I'm glad we don't hate each other."

"Me too," John said. "That would be an awful date."

"And this one's been good so far, yeah?" 

"Very good, yeah," John smiled.

"And we don't have to worry about her anymore," Sherlock said turning and setting his glass down on the bar.

"Right," John said. "Let's get another one."

"Let's go somewhere else for the next one," Sherlock said. He pulled on John's arm and led him out. They walked a few minutes, switching to the other side of the street and turning a corner. "Here," Sherlock said, motioning with his head towards a club with loud music and a bit of a queue. They walked past that and the bouncers let them inside. "You pay for these drinks," Sherlock said to John.

"Okay yeah," John agreed, heading straight to the bar and ordering for both of them. He looked around and started to notice there were only men here . . . oh. He glanced at Sherlock and smiled, pushing his drink over to him. "No umbrellas and nothing slipped in," he smiled.

Sherlock took a few swallows. He was starting to feel the alcohol. "You can dance here," he said, nodding to the dance floor.

John downed his drink and ordered two more. "Not alone, I won't," he said.

"Are you going to ask someone to dance then?" Sherlock said, looking around. When the bartender set down the drinks, he picked his up. "Anyone you fancy?"

"I would only ask you," he said. "I'm not a rude date."

"If you were expecting me to say no, I won't. I'd be happy to dance with you," Sherlock said. He imagined John dancing with Mary at the wedding and then made that image go away.

"I wasn't expecting a no. Let's go," John said, downing his second drink.

Sherlock finished his and set the glass down. He grabbed John's hand and tugged him out to the dancefloor. He slid his arms around John's waist, letting them rest on the small of his back. He pulled him close, looking down and smiling at John's face.

"This is different than most of the dancing I know, but it doesn't look too hard," he smiled. He looked around before moving his hips lightly with the music.

"What kind of dancing do you usually do then?" Sherlock asked. He couldn't help but think of John and Mary again and he closed his eyes to make the memory disappear. He replaced it with the picture of him dancing with John because that's what was happening now.

"I don't know," John said. He admired Sherlock's face as he shut his eyes and John wondered what he was thinking.

"Is this okay?" Sherlock said. "I've not danced in a long time."

"This is okay," John nodded. "I'm trying to learn from people around us but it all seems very . . . sexual," he said, feeling his cheeks warm.

"I suppose dancing is quite sexual," Sherlock said as he lifted his head and looked around the room. John was the most handsome man here. "Do you want to stop?" he asked and then said, "I don't," before John had a chance to respond.

John shook his head. "No, I don't either. But I think we have to blend in a bit more..." And with that he started to roll his hips properly against Sherlock, closing his eyes and following the rhythm of the music.

"We're not on a case, John," Sherlock said. "We don't have to blend in with anyone. We just have to be ourselves." He pulled John a little closer.

"I know," he murmured, tugging Sherlock's hips so he moved with him.

"I'm a bit drunk, John," Sherlock said softly.

John stopped his movements and looked up at Sherlock. He didn't want to take advantage of him -- he needed Sherlock to know what was happening if things went like last time. "Do you want to sit down for a bit?" 

Sherlock didn't stop moving. "I know what I'm doing, John," Sherlock said. "I'm not that drunk. Just enough . . . to feel nice. Don't you feel nice?"

John nodded, moving with him again. "Yes, I feel very nice," he said.

"Good," Sherlock said. He rested his head against John's. His hands moved a bit on John's back.

John gazed up at him, felt people staring at them, but he didn't care. Dancing with Sherlock felt good. They should have shown off at the wedding. He'd been so stupid to brush him off.

They danced for a few more songs. Then Sherlock said, "Should we move on? The next one's closer to home so we can make it our last stop."

"Okay, that sounds good," John said as he slowed and stopped dancing. He felt very happy. He was just drunk enough to feel light and relaxed.

Sherlock pulled John along by the hand and kept hold of it even after they got out on the street. They weren't stumbling drunk, but it was clear neither one was totally sober. Now the cold air almost stung Sherlock's cheeks, but they burned in a good way. He led them along to another club and went in. He motioned John to a table and then went to the bar, returning with a tray of shots.

"One for each . . .each time . . . I forget," Sherlock said. "I had a clever plan when I ordered them but it seems to have slipped my mind what they represent." He set the tray on the table and sat down.

John looked at all of the shots and smiled up at Sherlock. "We can say it's one for . . .for every time I outsmarted you," he laughed. There weren't too many shots there so it was plausible.

Sherlock smiled. "Somehow I don't think that's what I was thinking," he said. He lifted one glass and poured it into his mouth. "Your turn."

John took one and swallowed it all quickly. "Well, since you can't remember, that's what we'll go with," he smiled.

"You've definitely become more clever since you met me," Sherlock said. "But I think I've got more stupid."

"That implies we've rubbed off on each other and I don't . . ." He trailed off and started laughing. "Rubbed off," he said between laughing.

Sherlock laughed. "My god, you're immature, John Watson." He pushed a glass towards him. "You deserve another one for that."

John grinned and took another shot, pushing the tray closer to Sherlock again. "It was funny," he said.

"We'll see," Sherlock said. He took another shot and then looked around. "There are fewer people here so this has become my favourite place of the night."

"I liked the dancing," John said. He took one of the last shots and tapped it against the other before taking it quickly. He sighed happily and smiled at Sherlock.

"I'm glad," Sherlock said. "I did too. Long before I met you, I occasionally went to that place. But rarely danced so I'm glad we did."

John smiled and felt his curiosity pique, unable to imagine Sherlock hanging out at a place like that regularly. "Well, I'm glad we did too. Shall I get another tray or is that not in the plans?" he teased.

"I don't want us to be sick," Sherlock said. "Plus we have a game to play when we get home." Sherlock said. He moved the empty tray to the side of the table.

"A game? The celebrity names again?" John smiled. "Please pick someone you actually know this time," he teased.

"No, I think we should try something different. Obviously I'd prefer a game like Cluedo -- that'd play to my strengths," Sherlock said. "Or something like Truth or Dare could work, I suppose."

"Oh!" John smiled. "A little risk and courage! I like it."

Sherlock smiled. "Have I told you how glad I am that you're home?" he said. "I know I have. But I am, John."

"I'm glad too, Sherlock. Maybe I haven't said it enough but it's so true," John said.

Sherlock reached over and grabbed John's hand lightly. "Let's head home," he said, letting go and standing up.

John nodded, getting up and taking a second to assess himself. He wasn't dizzy. Good. "Are we walking home?"

"Yeah, as long as you're okay," Sherlock said. "The air'll feel nice." He led them out and they walked quietly back to the flat.


	9. The Do Over, Part Two

When they got home, Sherlock unlocked the door and headed up. He dug a bottle of wine out from one of the cupboards and poured them each a glass. He sat down in his chair and said, "All right, are we playing or what?"

"Yes, we're playing. Let's pull our chairs close like the last time," he said, already tugging on his.

Sherlock shifted a little. "Fine," Sherlock said. "Is this how it was? Last time?"

John nodded. "I remember resting my feet on your chair," he said.

Sherlock crossed his legs to leave some space. "Go ahead then," he said. "Do you want to start the game?"

John brought his feet up to the cushion and leaned back. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Sherlock said, taking a sip of wine.

"Tell me about your first kiss," John smiled, sipping at his own wine and closing his eyes for just a moment.

"The first one I remember was when I was about eleven and away at school," Sherlock said. "It was from a boy in my class and entirely uneventful. Apparently there is a photograph of a girl kissing me when I was about five, but I have no memory of that one at all." He took another sip of wine. "Truth or dare?"

John smiled and took another sip. "Dare," he smiled wider.

"Change clothes with me," Sherlock said.

John giggled like a school boy. "Nothing will fit!" He was sitting up and slipping off his vest as he said it.

"Just tops," Sherlock said. "You're right -- the trousers won't fit either one of us." He leaned forward and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He watched John pull his jumper over his head. He handed his shirt to John.

John pulled the purple shirt on carefully. It was too tight on his upper arms and shoulders, too long at the wrists and just odd fitting around his waist. "I don't want to ruin this one," he said as he looked as Sherlock putting his shirt and vest on. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Sherlock said, rubbing his wrists that were sticking out of John's shirt.

"What were you going to say at the door?"

"That I should have talked you out of marrying her," Sherlock said. He quickly followed that up with "Truth or dare?"

John blinked at him for a moment, processing the words. "Truth," he said a bit more quietly than before.

"If I had asked you not to marry her, would you have still married her?"

John licked his lips. "If you had given me a good reason," he said as he nodded.

"But didn't you love her?"

John nodded. "But not fairly," he said. He watched Sherlock's face, his eyes. He had loved Sherlock and he had settled for Mary.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Truth or dare?" John asked instead, swirling his wine before finishing it.

"Dare," Sherlock said, finishing his wine and leaning forward to top of both of their glasses.

John leaned forward as well. "Tell me the reason you'd have given me," he said, catching Sherlock's wrist and holding his fingers against his pulse, the same way Sherlock always did.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock turned his hand to touch John's wrist as well.

"Please . . ." John whispered. He knew he was going into dangerous territory now. If he was wrong there would be no going back. "I've wanted to hear it for so long." He kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock's and knew his heart was racing.

"It's always been you, John," Sherlock said. "We belong together."

John closed his eyes and gripped his hand harder. "It's always been you, too," he murmured. If only he'd had said something that night, the first time they were close like this.

Sherlock pulled John closer. "Truth or dare?"

John opened his eyes, wider than normal, and fixed them hard on Sherlock's. "Dare," he breathed.

Sherlock leaned forward and kissed John's mouth, long and hard.

John wrapped his fingers into Sherlock's hair and held him close, returning the kiss eagerly with a small moan. He'd wanted this for so long he could hardly believe it.

Sherlock dropped a hand to John's thigh, squeezing it. He kept moving into the kiss. This is what he'd wanted to do that night.

John slid forward, out of his chair and half into Sherlock's lap, sort of like he wanted to last time before he chickened out and squatted on the ground like an idiot. He sucked in air as they moved so they wouldn't have to break away.

"John," Sherlock huffed out before losing himself back into the kiss. One of his hands went to John's head, pulling him in even closer.

John only moaned in response not pulling away to let him speak. He didn't want to stop tasting him, didn't want to ever pull away.

Sherlock moved his hands in between their bodies and began unbuttoning his own shirt, trying to get it off of John as quickly as possible. He needed them to be closer, their bodies, their skin to be touching completely.

John scoot closer, properly sitting in Sherlock's lap as he worked his own vest and shirt off of him. As soon as it was pushed down he moved forward and pressed their chests together, fingers digging into his shoulders.

Sherlock pushed against John hard, his hands moving up and down his back. "John," he moaned again and then slid from his chair and lay John flat on the floor between their chairs. He let a hand roam across John's chest and stomach as he kissed his mouth again.

John arched into his hand, the skin burning where Sherlock touched him. He needed more. So much more. His hands worked Sherlock's trousers, pausing to touch his skin as much as he could. "Sherlock," he moaned finally, the kiss becoming sloppy.

Sherlock moved his hand to John's waistband and then opened his trousers . He slipped his hand inside, palming John's hardening cock through his boxers. "John, I should have told you not to marry her," he panted through the kiss.

"I should have told you that . . .that I loved you all along," he murmured, pushing Sherlock's trousers to his thighs so he could palm at him. "As soon as you came back I should have." John has missed his chance when Sherlock was on the roof -- why hadn't he told him after getting a remarkable second chance? And then he'd missed his third chance when Sherlock was shot. "Let me prove it . . . let me make it up to you."

"Never leave," Sherlock said. "We have all the time in the world as long as you'll stay." His hand slipped into John's pants and his fingers wrapped around his cock. The skin was hot and Sherlock was hot and suddenly it was overwhelming -- wanting this for so long and not getting it. "God, John," he breathed out and began slowly stroking him as he dipped to suck the skin on John's neck.

John tilted his head back but his hand copied Sherlock, wrapping around Sherlock's cock and moving slowly along the shaft. "I want to see you," he murmured. Having dreamt of him for so long he wanted to properly admire him now, drink in his long, slender body and sharp lines.

Sherlock pulled back from John, kicked off his shoes and then slowly got the rest of himself undressed.

John propped himself on his elbows and let his eyes move over Sherlock's body, tracing every muscle and line and curve. "You're so beautiful," he said. "So handsome."

"Take yours off," Sherlock said, moving to pull on John's trousers.

John sat up to help, tugging his pants down as well and tossing them aside. He flushed lightly but he let Sherlock look.

"I've thought of this so many times," Sherlock said, leaning down onto him to kiss his mouth again.

John gripped Sherlock's hair again, sliding his fingers through the stands slower this time. He couldn't believe what Sherlock was saying -- he'd never really imagined this could happen. He arched up and rolled his hips against him.

"Fuck, John," Sherlock said. He could tell he was close already -- he could hear his heart beating, he felt like he could feel his blood pulse through his veins. He reached down and held both their cocks as their bodies rocked. "God," he moaned again.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock to keep him close, panting and sharing the small space of air between them before kissing him hard. Heat built in his belly, coiling with tension.

Sherlock kept stroking them in the same rhythm as their hips. God, it felt so good -- like something he'd been holding secret was about to be shared. Because that's what was happening. His breath changed and he said, "John, I can't . . ." and then he was coming against them and he called out John's name again loudly.

John gasped and moaned loudly as he let go, calling out for Sherlock as he came seconds later. It was incredible. It was only his hand and yet it was more intense than anything he'd ever felt.

Sherlock collapsed down against John, both of them panting there on the floor. He felt a bit drunk -- not from the alcohol but from what had just happened. "John," he said softly, his face buried against John's shoulder.

"Hmm?" John said, bringing an arm around Sherlock as he covered his own face for a moment with the other. He still couldn't believe it.

"If this is what we are now, let's just be this -- no more pretending, okay?" Sherlock said softly.

"No more pretending," John agreed, turning his head to rest against Sherlock's. 

"Good," Sherlock said. He shifted a little and nuzzled his chin against John's chest. "I'm glad you're home, John," he said.

"Me too, Sherlock." John kissed his forehead and then closed his eyes with a contented sigh.


End file.
